Harry Potter and the Chronicles of Lady Ravenclaw
by Beacon21
Summary: AU. What would happen if Dudley died when he was young? The Dursleys accept Harry. He becomes more confident and happy. He becomes a Ravenclaw. He has a larger group of friends. He's mentored by Prof. Flitwick and goes on to become a champion dueler. He becomes more powerful and prepared. Starts from the first book and goes through all seven years. Currently, no pairings.
1. Chapter 1

_**Harry Potter and the Chronicles of Lady Raven claw**_

_by the 21st Beacon_

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Private Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey were sad to say that they had nothing left in their lives that gave them joy except for themselves. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange and mysterious, because they had too much grief.

Mr. Vernon Dursley was the director of the firm called Grunnings which made drills. He used to be a big beefy man but had subsequently lost most of his girth.

Mrs. Petunia Dursley was very thin and had blonde hair which was filled with some gray hairs at most places and twice the usual amount of neck which did not come useful when she had silent tears coming out of her eyes.

The Dursleys had a small son who was called Dudley but sadly Dudley died. The Dursleys could have everything that they wanted except for a child.

However, they also had a secret but what would happen if someone were to find out about that secret was the last thing on their minds. They didn't think that other people finding about the Potters would matter to them anymore. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small son, but they had never seen him. Though they wanted to see the boy, they couldn't or rather, wouldn't impose on the Potters in such a way.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on a dull, gray Tuesday is when our story starts, there was nothing about the sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would be happening all over the country.

Mr. Dursley was silent as he picked out his most boring tie for work, and Mrs. Dursley was trying to cook some breakfast without having a nervous breakdown. At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, kissed Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and listened sadly at how quiet his house sounded. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed something peculiar – a cat reading a map.

For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen - then he slowly turned his head around to look again.

There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Private Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. Maybe he was going mad? It must have been his imagination.

Mr. Dursley stared and blinked at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat through his mirror.

It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive — no, _looking _at the sign; cats couldn't read maps _or _signs. He wondered, and then waved at the cat. The cat gave him a discreet nod.

Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.

But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help but become morose at the loss of his son.

Mr. Dursley saw some people in funny clothes but put that at the back of his mind. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a bunch of people standing close by and whispering excitedly together.

A few minutes later the traffic moved on and he arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind, fortunately, went back on drills.

Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. _He _didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped of them had never seen an owl even at night time.

Mr. Dursley, however, had a naturally quiet, owl-free morning. He wanted to yell at five different people but couldn't bring himself to do so. He made several important telephone calls and felt like shouting a bit more.

He felt like stretching his legs during lunchtime and decided to walk across the road to buy him a bun from the bakery. He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the bakers.

He eyed them warily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him queasy. This bunch was talking excitedly, but and he thought if they were collecting money for some silly stunt, but he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a small back of bread, that he caught what they were saying. "The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard yes, their son, Harry".

Mr. Dursley stopped and he felt curious. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it. He walked back across the road, trudged up to his office, asked his secretary not to disturb him, picked up his telephone, and finished dialling his home number when after five rings, his wife picked up his call.

'Hello, Dursley Residence' she greeted.

'Hello, Petunia, How are you?' he asked.

Petunia Dursley felt surprised, her husband never called while he was at work unless it was something serious. 'I'm fine, Vernon. But what happened? Why did you call?' she replied.

'I heard some people in unusual clothes talking about some 'Potters' and their son 'Harry'. Do you think if-'

'Oh, you mean my sister; I haven't contacted her in quite a while - not since.'

He replied quickly fearing the worse, 'don't worry, dear, it's going to be all right. Now I'll be coming home early if you want'

'No, it's okay, I can handle myself.'

'All right then, I'll get back to work'

'Bye Vernon'

'Bye Petunia'

He thought about what he had just done. He stroked his moustache while thinking... no. He was being stupid.

Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure if his nephew was even called Harry.

He'd never seen the boy. It might have been Harvey, or Harold.

He shouldn't have worried Mrs. Dursley; she was upset enough as it was. He didn't blame her – they both shared their loss.

But all the same, those people in cloaks...

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and when he left the building at five o' clock, he was so worried about Petunia that he walked straight in to someone just outside the door.

'Sorry' he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was some time before he noticed that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passerby stare, 'don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice. For You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even muggles like you should be celebrating on this happy, happy day!' And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked.

Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been by a complete stranger.

He was also been called a muggle, whatever that was.

He called after the man but the man just walked into an alley way and disappeared! As if he never even existed.

Mr. Dursley was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't like what he was imagining.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning.

It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.

He tried to make the cat go away, but the cat didn't move; it just gave him a stern look.

He sighed and walked over to the cat, and began to scratch it behind its ears and just above its head. The cat purred in delight. 'Who's a nice kitty' he cooed.

'Was this normal behaviour?' Mr. Dursley wondered.

Attempting to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was determined not to mention anything to Mrs. Dursley. Mrs. Dursley set up the dinner table and they quietly ate supper. Both of them were contemplating how Dudley would have grown up to be.

Mr. Dursley tried to act normal as he didn't want to upset his wife. He went to the living room to catch the last report on the evening news:

'And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern.' The news caster smiled. 'This is most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?'

'Well, Ted', said the weatherman, 'I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early – It's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight.'

Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks, all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters...

Mrs. Dursley came into the living room while trying and failing to handle two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously, expecting the worse. 'Err –Petunia, dear- you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?' As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley was shaking and the cups of tea fell from her hands and broke.

After all, they hadn't contacted her sister and her_ crowd_ in a very long time.

'No' she replied quietly. 'Why?'

'Odd stuff on the news,' Mr. Dursley mumbled. 'Owls... Shooting stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today...'

'So?' asked Mrs. Dursley

'Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... you know... _her_ people.'

Mrs. Dursley picked up the broken pieces of the tea cups. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he should tell her he heard the name "Potter"; he'd decided that he shouldn't. Instead he said, as calmly as he could, 'Their son- he would be almost as old as Dudley would be, wouldn't he?'

'I suppose so' said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.

'What was his name again? Howard, isn't it?

'Harry' she said sharply.

'Oh, yes' said Mr. Dursley with a sudden feeling of horror.

He didn't say another word on the subject as Mrs. Dursley went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was crying in the bathroom, so as to not let Mr. Dursley hear her, Mr. Dursley crept to the window and peered into the front garden. The cat was still there.

It was staring down Private Drive as though it were waiting for something. Was he imagining thing? Could any of this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did... If something really happened to the Potters –well, he didn't think he could bear it. The Dursleys got into bed and Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Dursley was still wide awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought as he lay awake was that 'Potter' wasn't such an uncommon surname and there must be lots of 'Potters' with sons named 'Harry'. He was over thinking this.

He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on - he yawned and turned over- it probably didn't even affect them.

How very wrong he was. After that thought everything changed.

Mr. Dursley might have been trying to drift into an uneasy sleep, but the cat in the wall, outside was showing no signs of sleepiness.

It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Private Drive. It didn't as much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swopped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground.

The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Noting like this man had ever been seen in Private Drive. He was tall, thin and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt.

He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken atleast twice.

This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore seemed to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots were unwelcome.

He was busy rummaging in his cloaks, looking for something. But he seemed to realize that he was being watched, because he suddenly looked up at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat amused him. He chuckled and muttered 'I should have known.' He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop.

He clicked it again as the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the 'put-outer', until the only light left were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anybody looked out of their window now, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the 'put-outer' back inside his cloak and set off down the street towards number four, where he sat down next on the wall, next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.

'Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall?'

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly like the shape of the markings on the cat had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun.

She looked distinctly ruffled. 'How did you know it was me?' she asked.

'My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly.'

'You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day,' said Professor McGonagall.

'All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here.'

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

'Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right' she said impatiently. 'You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no –even the muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news.'

She jerked her head back at the Dursley's dark living-room window. 'I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars... well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent –I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense.

'You can't blame them' said Dumbledore gently. 'We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years.'

'I know that' said Professor McGonagall irritably. 'But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in muggles clothes, swapping rumours.'

She drew a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. 'A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?'

'It certainly seems so,' said Dumbledore.

'We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?' asked Dumbledore.

'A what?' replied McGonagall.

'A lemon drop. They're a kind of muggle sweet I'm rather fond of.'

'No, thank you.' Said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. 'As I say even if You-Know-Who has gone – '

'My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like you can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense – for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort.'

Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. 'It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name.'

'I know you haven't,' said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. 'But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know-Wh – oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of.'

'You flatter me,' said Dumbledore calmly. 'Voldemort had powers I will never have.'

'Only because you're too – well – noble to use them.'

'It's lucky its dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs.'

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, 'The owls are nothing next to the rumours that are flying around. You know what they're saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?'

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had not reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she has been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever 'everyone' was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.

'What they're saying' she pressed one, 'is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hallow. He went to find the Potters. The rumour is that Lily and James – are – are – that they're - dead.

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

'Lily and James – I can't believe it – I didn't want to believe it – Oh, Albus –'

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. 'I know – I know –' he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. 'That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's son, Harry. But he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke – and that's why he's gone.'

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

'It's – it's true?' faltered Professor McGonagall. 'After all he's done, all the people he's killed, he couldn't kill a little boy? It's just so astounding, of all the things to stop him, but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?'

'We can only guess,' said Dumbledore. 'We may never know.'

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands, but instead of numbers, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, 'Hagrid's almost here. I suppose that it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?'

'Yes,' said Professor McGonagall. 'And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?'

'I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now.'

'You don't mean the people who live here?' said Professor McGonagall, quietly. 'Dumbledore, I've been watching them all day. The lady in the house cries almost all the time and the man seems to have aged over a decade in a few days. And now, Harry Potter comes and lives here.'

'It's the best place for him, and he might be able to help this couple with their grief.' Said Dumbledore, firmly at first but then he became unsure. 'His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter.'

'A letter?' repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. 'Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will surely try to understand him but they cannot! He'll be famous – a legend – I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter day in the future – there will be books written about Harry – every child in our world will know his name!'

'Exactly,' said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top half of his half-moon glasses.

'It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?'  
Professor McGonagall opened her mouth and screeched, 'and you will be the judge of when the time is right, am I correct? There's no need to answer that, of course I am. I think your fame has gone to your head. Did you forget what I told you about the road to hell?'

Dumbledore sighed, 'what else can I do? Would you rather have me handle young Harry to Healers and Unspeakables? Did you forget that there are still those loyal to Voldemort present in the Wizarding world?'

Professor McGonagall pressed on, 'I would prefer it if someone was checking on Harry from time-to-time.'

'And you would nominate yourself?' replied Dumbledore.

'Myself, Filius, Pomona, in short anyone but you' answered Professor McGonagall, curtly.

Dumbledore winced and then sighed, 'How little trust you have in me. But I do not find anything wrong with your orders – uh – request.'

Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes and said, 'But how is he getting here?' She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry underneath it.

'Hagrid's bringing him.'

'You think it – wise – to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?'

'I would trust Hagrid with my life' said Dumbledore.

'I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place.' Said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, 'but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to – what was that?'

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky – and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and atleast five times as wide.

He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild – long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets. The moment his feet touched the ground, he handed the bundle to Dumbledore.

'Hagrid' said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. 'At last, where sis you get that motorcycle from?'

'Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir' said the giant, walking back to the motorcycle as he spoke. 'Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've given him to you, sir.'

'No problems, were there?' asked Dumbledore as a weird smell hit his almost broken nose.

'No, sir – house was almost destroyed, but I got 'im out all right before the muggles started swarmin' around. 'E had a "problem" somewhere over Bristol and I got the worse 'f it. But after that, he fell asleep.

Professor McGonagall bent forward, somehow ignoring the stench, over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

'Is that where - ?' whispered Professor McGonagall.

'Yes', said Dumbledore. 'He'll have that scar forever.'

'Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?'

'Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well – give him here Hagrid – we'd better get this over with.'

Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned towards the Dursley house.

'Goodbye, 'arry' said Hagrid. Hagrid then let out howl which sounded like a wounded dog.

'Shh!' hissed Professor McGonagall, 'You'll wake the Muggles!'

'S-s-sorry', sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. 'But I c-c-can't stand it – Lily an' James dead – an' poor little 'arry off ter live with Muggles –'

'Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found,' Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden and walked to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, cast a cleaning charm on the blankets to take care of the cause of Hagrid's distress, and then came back to the other two.

For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

'Well,' said Dumbledore finally, 'That's that. We have no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations.'

'Yah,' said Hagrid, in a muffled voice. 'I'd best get Sirius's bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall – Professor Dumbledore, sir.'

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

'I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall', said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose and answered, 'I shall not leave here till morning. I cannot keep myself from wondering what will happen to young Harry and I wouldn't forgive myself if something bad happened to him.'

Dumbledore nodded solemnly, and said hesitantly, 'Please, tell me what happens, and I'll ask Pomona to come by every now and again.'

Professor McGonagall made an affirmative sound and quietly turned back into a cat and once again took her place on the wall.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Private Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out the tabby cat on the wall at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the steps of number four.

'Good luck, Harry' he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Private Drive, which lay silently and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing how special he was, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be awoken by Mrs. Dursley's shriek of surprise in a few hours time as she opened the door to put out the milk bottles...

He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: 'To Harry Potter – The boy-who-lived'

**Disclaimer: **_I am (sadly) not smart enough to own Harry Potter, but J.K. Rowling and her pals are._

**A/N:** _Okay, so how do you guys like this first chapter. _  
_I have exams coming up for the next few months, so updates will be erratic (but expect large chapters). This is my first time writing Fanfiction, so I have no idea what I'm doing here, so if anyone has any ideas as to what I'm supposed to do, they are welcome to tell me. _  
_So anyways, I am thinking of holding a poll regarding what abilities Harry should have. _  
_I am currently thinking of making him a dueler under the tutelage of Prof. Flitwick and give him animagus abilities (which he starts using after the third year). And I'm also thinking of giving him a familiar (please don't tell me to use a snake, those stories are overdone and I'm not trying to make a DLP[I have another story for that]). And also another *special* ability (which will be explained in the next few chapters). _  
_Also I hope to continue this story through out the all of his seven years, but then again, life catches up._  
_So then, this is the God of Awesomeness/the 21st Beacon signing off.  
~ tGoA,N/21st Beacon_


	2. Chapter 2

Harry Potter and the Chronicles of Lady Ravenclaw

_~ by the 21st Beacon/ the God of Awesomeness_

Harry Potter sighed. He was currently sitting in the Principal's Office of his school with his uncle and aunt. This was the first time he was there. He was here because his teacher's hair turned blue. And somehow, the teacher decided to blame Harry. The Principal was admonishing the teacher for false accusations. On the large table, which was used by the Principal, was an eraser.

But his uncle, Vernon Dursley and his aunt, Petunia Dursley, looked like they knew exactly what had happened. He narrowed his eyes and decided then and there, to look into the matter.

It was nearly six years since the Dursleys found a baby Harry Potter outside of their door.

* * *

/Flashback/

Vernon had been awoken by a shriek of surprise from his wife. He quickly changed himself into some better clothes and went down the stairs to see his wife crying over something in the doorway. He went to his wife and put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

'The last couple of years have been hard for her.' He thought to himself and decided to try and get her some professional help.

He saw what she was crying over and to his surprise there were a bundle of blankets with a baby in them. He plucked his wife from her place and helped her to the table in the kitchen. After making sure that she was sufficiently comforted, he made his way back to the door and picked up the bundle of blankets with the baby in them. Inside, he saw there was a letter, addressed to him and his wife. He turned the envelope and began to open the letter, but saw that it was already opened. He saw that there was a wax seal on the envelope.

He went to his wife with the baby in his arms and gave her a hug, took the letter in her hand which was written on a piece of parchment and saw that it was written by someone with loopy hand-writing.

_To,  
Mr. & Mrs. Dursley,  
Number 4 Private Drive,  
Little Whinging, Surrey_

_It is my unfortunate duty to inform you, that your relatives, Mr. James Potter and Mrs. Lily Potter (nee Evans), have sadly met their end. They were killed by an evil wizard named Voldemort. But somehow, due to Lily sacrificing her life for Harry, Voldemort was unable to kill Harry, and he is gone for now. But it is my belief that he will eventually come back._

_So, as Harry's last living relatives, the responsibility of his welfare falls onto you. When he becomes eleven, someone from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will come to your house to introduce him to the magical world._

_But, Voldemort's followers are still at large. As such, I have constructed certain wards which will prevent wizards and witches who wish to harm Harry, from entering within a ten mile radius of this area. The wards require Mrs. Petunia Dursley (nee Evans) to remain with Harry within the house for atleast ten hours per day to recharge them. As long as the wards are working, you and your family will be safe from Voldemort's followers. But it would be preferable if you decided not to move away from Surrey, as the wards that I have placed are notoriously difficult to move._

_He will have to remain in this house till the age of seventeen, after which, he is free to do whatever he wishes. Please do not harm him.  
Yours,  
Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore,  
Order of Merlin, First Class,  
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

And there, the letter ended. Vernon was silently thinking.

He thought about the marriage he had attended with his wife.

Lily and James.

They seemed so happy on the altar. But now...

And their son. Harry.

He was orphaned now.

Lily and James were dead. They were killed by an evil wizard.

An evil wizard.

'What is this?' he thought. 'Some sort of twisted fairy tale?'

Another wail from his wife brought him back from his musings, and he went to comfort his wife and nephew.

/Flashback/

* * *

And as such, almost six years passed.

And thus, Harry Potter grew into a good-natured and nice young man.

He had lots of friends. But none of them were very close to him.

He also developed a love for books and of all knowledge.

Unfortunately, he didn't or rather couldn't use modern technology, because for whatever reason, any kind of electronic device, stopped working after being used by him for less than a week.

Except for one thing.

A Gameboy Color which was a gift from his second-favorite aunt Marge. Harry, on a whim, tried to open its back and see if there was some problem with its batteries and left it like that to do his chores. But after forgetting about it for almost two weeks, Harry went to find an eraser to correct the mistakes in his homework and remembered about the Gameboy and turned it on and suddenly, it began working on its own.

Almost as if it was magic.

* * *

"... And I simply cannot understand how you can blame young Mr. Potter, here. It is obvious that he could not have done anything to your hair as he was on the other side of the class. You said so yourself. Now, now. We cannot have such unprofessional behavior in this school. Now, Mr. Dursley, I apologize on behalf of my staff and on behalf of this school. About Harry... ehm... It seems that he is seemingly unchallenged, he has potential, but he seems unable to excel beyond his grades and such. I would believe that is because to the varied technological distractions available today, but I digress. I think it would help his concentration and mental prowess if you bought him some musical instrument or signed him up for some activity in which he will get at least some amount of physical exercise..."

Harry tuned to of the blather of his Principal and began looking at the eraser on the Principal's large desk. Not feeling like being bored to death by his boring Principal and his stupid teacher, he moved out of his chair and began looking at some of the posters and paintings on the wall. There was one of a waterfall and another one talking about school spirit and such. There was a painting of the ever-present 'The Hunt'. Soon enough, he got bored of that as well.

Half an hour of boring conversation later (which we will skip... because we can)

"... As you can see, Harry's grades are at the top of almost all of his classes and his other teachers say that he enjoys reading and studying..."

Another half hour of boring conversation later (which we will again skip... just because we can)

"... So then, that brings us to the end of this. I thank you for taking some of your valuable time and coming on such short notice, Mr. Dursley. If there is anything else regarding young Mr. Potter that you wish to discuss, then my doors are always open. Would you care for some mint?"

Harry mentally sighed in relief and cursed whatever Gods existed for causing him to go through an obscure forms of torture know as "adult talk".

And thus the Dursleys left the Principal's office, but not before Harry finished the Principal's stock of mint candies as revenge for torturing him for almost two hours.

Harry's aunt decided to take the Principal's advice and convinced his uncle to buy him a violin. Harry decided to finish the Principal's newly bought stock to mint candies as revenge for making him go through that, but realized that he really enjoyed playing the violin.

But he ate the mint candies anyway.

* * *

And thus, five more years passed.

Harry grew up to be a normal person like his uncle and aunt.

Or so he thought.

* * *

The Sun rose on the tidy front grass of Dursley's lawn and brightly lit up the brass number four on their door.

Young Harry Potter, son of the late James and Lily Potter and nephew/pseudo-son of Vernon and Petunia Dursley, woke up and grumbled lightly about being awoken by the bright sunlight which had crept thorough the window and onto his face.

As he moved to the kitchen, after having washed up and brushed his teeth, he tried to remember the dream that he had been having. It had a flying motorcycle in it and then the motorcycle suddenly changed into a giant eraser with wings. He felt that he had seen that same dream more than once.

He heard his aunt put a frying pan to the stove and asked her to make some breakfast for him.

His aunt seemed to be unusually somber today.

Seeing that his uncle would be back for lunch in a few hours, Harry decided to ask him about his aunt after he came back.

* * *

Vernon Dursley was returning from his office at Grunnings to his house at Surrey for lunch.

He disliked anniversaries.

Well, maybe not all anniversaries.

Anniversaries for good things, like weddings or birthdays were always welcome/

But not this anniversary. Especially, this anniversary.

Today was the day, when his only son had died.

During child-birth.

Petunia was depressed for over three years because of this.

Well, this and the fact that she couldn't have another child.

The doctors said that there were some complications.

Its because of these complications, that Petunia almost died.

Thankfully, his nephew Harry, despite coming from weird magical people, was still normal in all other ways.

Having him at their house proved to be great. He managed to crack the shell that Petunia had been hiding behind. Vernon had tried and failed miserably to bring her out of her funk, but Harry succeeded where he failed.

'Well, thank God for traffic policemen' Vernon thought, as some idiot on a motorcycle almost crashed with an oncoming truck and was currently being accosted by a traffic policeman.

* * *

Just as Vernon's car was parked in their drive-way, Harry made his way to his uncle.

After some grilling and just before a cry of 'Supper's ready!' by Petunia, Harry came to understand why his aunt and uncle were almost always to morbid.

Harry thought to himself, 'some distracting is in order.'

"Aunt Petunia, let's go to the Zoo today."

Petunia sighed. She dotted her nephew, but sometimes he was a handful.

"All right, Vernon can you call up in your office and take the rest of the day off?"

"Of course dear, anything for you." Vernon replied.

'And thank God for the kid!' Vernon thought silently.

* * *

And so, the almost-normal family of three made their way into suburbia and onto the Zoo.

After some time which his aunt spent trying to tame his unruly hair while his uncle went on to chat, mostly with himself but with Harry and Aunt Petunia nodding and making non-committal sounds every other minute. Harry cleaned his glasses as they reached the main entrance of the London Zoo.

After paying for their entrance, the Dursleys' entered the London Zoo in all its glory.

As it was a Saturday, the zoo was crowded with people who were trying to find some way to keep their young children from blowing up their house because they wanted it to survive the weekend and trying to erase some of the damage the damage by keeping them out and renovating their houses.

Harry's uncle brought some chocolate ice-cream at the entrance, for Harry and Aunt Petunia who decided to share hers' with her husband.

Harry began puttering his way through the crowd with his aunt and uncle following in his wake. They saw various animals moving around in their cages and doing weird stuff that animals in cages normally do.

After almost two hours of roaming around throughout the zoo, Harry and his surrogate-parents made their way into the reptile house.

In the cool, dark and damp Reptile house with lit windows along the walls, there were clear glass caged with various lizards and snakes lounging about lazily.

Within moments, Harry was on his way through the crowd, and randomly decided a cage with the reptiles inside.

Curiously, it was a King Cobra, which was imported from a Zoo in Calcutta. Now, this snake was a poisonous one and was currently, hissing randomly at people.

Harry looked around, trying to see if anyone was watching him. It seemed that no one except for his aunt was nearby. So, Harry looked intently at the snake for some time and then he hissed back at the snake.

The snake hissed again. And Harry hissed back.

Petunia watched this exchange with some amount of trepidation.

The snake then rolled its head around, and then looked at Harry.

Harry hissed something which sounded suspiciously similar to 'Let'ssss ssssee you do it then.'

The snake hissed back and then picked up a stone which was lying around in his cage with its tail, as it had no hands to pick up the stone, and began banging it to the glass and broke the glass within moments.

Petunia did the only thing that she could.

She fainted.

That was the moment it all went to hell. People with children who had hoped to return calmly back to their un-demolished homes, began screaming about snakes.

The snake began to slither out of its cage and moved to one of the air-vents and disappeared within moments, but not before it hissed something which would have sounded like 'crasssy humansss, trying to crussssh me' if anyone could understand the snake language. But it seemed that only Harry could. The snake then winked at Harry and ducked out of the air-vent.

Vernon Dursley who had lost his nephew and wife in the Reptile House quite some time ago, decided to wait near the entrance of the Reptile House in the hopes of catching then while they exited. He was left with nothing to do and hence, began to entertain himself with his journal, a pen and an eraser which he always kept with himself. He began to erase the appointments that he missed that day, and rewrote them for a later date, and just as he was about to finish doing that, he heard the sound of glass crashing into the ground. Then people began to run out of the Reptile House shouting and stampeding but Vernon managed to get himself into a corner where he was safe from the seemingly-crazy crowd. 'I mean, who the hell starts shouting about snakes in a Reptile House! Of course there are going to be snakes here! They're bloody reptiles!' he thought to himself.

A short time after that the Dursleys' and Harry were in the office of the Zoo director, who was apologizing profusely while he made them some tea.

After chatting with the Zoo Director and the Reptile house Keeper for quite some time, during which, Harry ate most of the chocolate-chip biscuits which they had offered him, and after a quick journey home, they were all back to their house in Private Drive.

Vernon returned home and brought out some strong wine that he kept for times when wine was required. Then, just before putting it into a glass, he realized that Harry was still awake. He sighed.

"Have some dinner, think about what you did today and how to not let it happen again and then go to sleep." And after that Vernon collapsed into his chair in the living room and began nursing some of the wine, the glass all but forgotten.

Harry made his way into the kitchen, where he had his dinner and then went to his room to sleep.

* * *

Harry lay on his bed trying to think what happened that day. He looked at the watch in his room. There was still quite some time before he would actually fall asleep. And after thinking about what happened that day and how to not let happen again, for quite some time, he got bored and began thinking about other things.

He'd lived with his aunt and uncle for ten whole years, ever since he was a baby and his parents had died in a car crash.

He couldn't remember anything about his parents, but he was only one year old when the crash happened.

His aunt and uncle rarely spoke about them. And were reluctant to do so when he asked. There were a few pictures of his mother from when she was younger, but only one of his father. When they were both at the altar.

Then he thought about the strangers who were quite strange and sometimes asked to shake his hand or bowed to him or waved at him and sometimes, even asked if they could have one hair off of his head!

And it was with such weird thought that Harry Potter fell asleep.

**Disclaimer:** _J. K. Rowling does not own the God of Awesomeness. Neither does she own the 21st Beacon. But she does own Harry Potter and his pals._

**A/N:** _Sooooo... How long has it been? Almost one month at least. It seems that I must apologize, I promised you guys that I would update soon, but due to some of my more insane ideas, I got bronchitis, which led to something similar to asthma and also fell down the stairs. So as of now, the "Doc" (as he will be known for now, and hopefully, never again) told me to stay at the hospital and not move around a lot. My mom brought Francine (my laptop/muse) after a couple of days, but it was precisely at the time when the "Doc" gave (*cough* forced *cough*) some pain-killers to me. This chapter is the result of that. It is rather small.  
_

_This is something that I had to write in the last couple of weeks and is almost the same as how I had thought out the story (which is still kinda foggy in my head). I'll try and write when I can. _

_Anyways, my preliminary exams just got over the other week, and I'm feeling far better because of it, or rather, because of the end of it. But not for long, it seems that the first part of my main exams are coming up in the first week of January. So, then there's the second part of the main exam (the theory part) taking place near the end of February. I probably won't be an update till mid-March. _(T^T)

_Moving on, my update schedule will still be bad. I'll keep writing whenever I can, but my life is filled with awkward/weird/awesome and disturbing moments and also I have to fulfill my various duties and responsibilities to others._

_Someone stated that the last chapter was far too similar to the original chapter in the book. To that I say, that I do intend to edit the chapter sometime, preferably when I have more free time and don't have a sword (that is currently know as my main exams) hanging over my head. And as I have stated earlier, I own nothing except my name, i.e- The God of Awesomeness/ The 21st Beacon. _

_Currently, there are no pairings and there will be no pairings till the fourth year. Soon after which, this story will probably end, as even a slightly competent Harry can kick Voldemort's butt in no time. (But as of now, I'm favoring Hermoine and Luna)_

_P.S - there may be references to erasers in this story.  
_

_P.P.S - Thank you to everyone for the flood of alerts and favorites currently attacking my email. This chapter goes out to you! Ahem, all of you!_

_And P.P.P.S - Heheheh Pee pee pee ess..._

_And just before I go, anyone with any kinds of suggestions, advice, criticisms and death threats are welcome to PM me or even review_


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